Life
by Caz Dowse
Summary: Cartman gets a look at the future in this mash up of South Park and A Christmas Carol - a brand new multi chaptered fic! Chapter 2 up!
1. Chapter 1

**Life**

**This fic may come across as a little strange at first, but it will all become clear, I promise! It's been inspired by A Christmas Carol (yes, I know it's only March), but if this story proves unpopular, I will remove it.**

**I don't own South Park.**

**RIP Jade Goody – may you be the brightest star in the sky.**

**Chapter 1 – The Visitation**

Eric Cartman trembled as he looked at the small piece of paper clenched gently between his finger and thumb. He took a deep breath and read it – then, unable to resist, he read it again, and again. He exhaled deeply.

"Fucking beautiful," he murmured.

Pay Eric Theodore Cartman the sum of $750,000. He stared at all those lovely numbers and thought about all the havoc he could cause with that money. Watch out world, Eric Cartman's filthy stinking rich! The assholes in South Park won't know what's hit them, he thought happily.

Who knew that Great Aunt Lucy had so much money stashed away, anyway? Certainly not Cartman's mom Liane, who'd fainted when he'd shown her his new found wealth. Clearly Great Aunt Lucy, who owned 20 cats and had lived in the same purple dress for the past 5 years, had not been the batty old dyke everybody thought she was.

Of course, this wasn't the first time Cartman had inherited a fortune: there was the time, a few years ago, when his gran had left him a million dollars, which he'd blown on his own private theme park, Cartmanland. He had only been 10 years old back then, though. He was 13 now, a lot older, and a hell of a lot wiser. He would not do anything so frivolous this time. Not yet, anyway.

Cartman put the cheque down on his desk and got his favourite Terrance and Phillip pyjamas from a chest of drawers. As he undressed, he couldn't help remembering the reaction of his friends when he'd told them the wonderful news. Kyle's reaction was the best, as he'd known it would be. Every time anything good happened to Cartman, Kyle got mad, which made Cartman incredibly happy. So of course he made sure Kyle heard the news before anyone else.

"$750,000!" Kyle had shouted in disbelief. "$750,000! You get a million a few years ago and now you get $750,000! Jesus Christ!"

In the end, Kyle had become so irate that had had to send him outside to cool off.

Most of the other kids in Cartman's class had reacted in the same way as Kyle, others had made dark comments about murdering old ladies. Cartman was pretty sure he'd heard Craig Tucker mutter:

"There is no God."

Nobody had congratulated Cartman on his sudden windfall, but then, being the most hated kid in South Park, he hadn't expected them to. Not that he cared what that bunch of faggots thought, anyway.

The only person who had even attempted to be nice to him was Kenny McCormack, and that was only because he was trying to mooch money. Cartman smiled. That conversation had been a particular highlight of his day.

"Hey Cartman," Kenny had said, sidling up to him as he was getting stuff out of his locker. "Heard about your windfall. Good news, huh?"

"Yep."

"Yeah." Kenny had stood there, shifting from foot to foot anxiously. "See, now you're so incredibly rich and all, and we've been friends for a long time now, a really long time, I mean, who else would've put up with you for so long? No, wait, that's not what I mean, forget I said that – "

"Spit it out, Kenny."

"I need $10,000." Kenny had swallowed hard. This was not the kind of conversation you wanted to conduct in a crowded school hallway. "We're behind with payments on the house, we're up to our necks in debt already and we can't get any more credit…Cartman, this is not funny!"

Cartman had turned around, unable to hide his laughter. He leaned against his locker and wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry. I love the way you call your little shack a house. It's cute. Do go on."

"Anyway, bottom line is, if we don't pay up soon, we're going to lose our _house_." Kenny had sighed deeply. He looked even poorer than ever, if that were possible – his old orange parka had holes in it, and the soles of his trainers were hanging off. He looked like the weight of the world was on his bony shoulders. "Please Cartman, I'm begging you, as my friend – help me."

"Gee, let me think," Cartman had said, pretending to look quizzical. "I can either give you and your dirty family some of my hard earned money _or_ I can spend your $10,000 on something really awesome… for me. Hmm. Damn, this is a tough one." He pretended to think for a moment. "You know what? I think I'll keep the money."

"You're a fucking asshole, Cartman!"

"You know, you really shouldn't take this out on me, Kenny. It's not my fault you're so goddamn poor."

"You know what, Cartman? You're gonna regret this. One day, I'm gonna bite back. I'll make you get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness." And with that, Kenny had stormed off, the bottoms of his battered trainers flapping on the floor.

Cartman grinned as he remembered Kenny's indignation. What could that poor-ass bastard ever do to him? It would be sad if it wasn't so funny.

He picked up the cheque and kissed it, then locked it away inside the top drawer of his desk, just in case those assholes Kyle and Kenny got any ideas. Which, knowing the two of them as well as he did, was pretty unlikely but still, you couldn't be too careful.

Cartman climbed into bed and flicked off his bedside lamp. He sighed happily as he cuddled down under his Terrance and Phillip duvet. Soon he had drifted off into a contented, peaceful sleep. He was having a wonderful dream about skinny dipping in a swimming pool filled with lovely green dollars when he heard it – a soft, ethereal voice calling his name:

"Cartman! Eric Cartman…"

His eyes snapped open and he gripped the baseball bat hidden under his pillow.

"Eric Cartman?" The voice was close by now.

Cartman sat up, turned on the bedside lamp and brandished the bat. "Try anything and I'll fucking lamp…you?"

He stared in astonishment at a girl standing next to his bed. She was tall and pretty, with long wavy blond hair and blue eyes. She wore a faded denim jacket, pink T-shirt and jeans. She looked worried.

Cartman half lowered the bat. He probably would've lashed out had she been a boy, but the fact that she was a girl complicated matters somewhat. Cartman remembered all too clearly the last time he had challenged a girl she had beaten him up in front of his friends. But then the girl had been Wendy Testaburger, who everybody knew was a stupid lesbian whore.

"Who are you?" he asked warily.

"Are you Eric Cartman?" she asked, in that same soft, unsettling voice.

"Yeah, I'm Eric Cartman. Who the hell are you?"

"Oh, thank God." She almost sank to her knees with relief. "I'm sorry I'm so late. I got lost and I've been to two different houses looking for you and then I started panicking because one of the boys I thought was you – this little blond haired kid – started freaking out but it all turned out okay because the other kid I thought was you – he told me his name but I forget now, I think it was Steve or Stan or something, told me where you lived. So here I am!"

Cartman stared at her, openmouthed, then said slowly: "Who…are…you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. My name's Heather." She straightened up. "I've come to warn you, Eric Cartman: if you don't give Kenny McCormack the money he needs to save his house, there will be dire consequences; not just for you, but for the whole of South Park."

"Is this some kind of joke? Are you from a homeless charity or something?"

"Not exactly, no." Heather sat down on the bed. Well, she sat down and floated about six inches above it.

Cartman stared at her again. "You're a ghost," he said matter-of-factly.

"We prefer the term 'spirit guide'," she replied. "Look, I know you probably don't believe me, but I have the proof right here." She dipped into her jacket pocket and pulled out a nondescript looking Blu-Ray case. "Your future is in here."

"My future is on Blu-Ray?" Cartman asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, we like to keep with the times," Heather said dismissively. "Visions are so 19th century." She stood up. "You can watch it or not, it's no skin off my nose. But you've only got one chance – I won't be coming back again. Between you and me," she leant in conspiratorially, "my erm, boss wouldn't be happy if He knew I was here. Technically, we're not allowed to interfere with events down here. I could be sent down into purgatory if He finds out. So, you can either watch this now and avoid a future filled with pain and misery, or you can experience it for yourself in about 20 years time."

Cartman gazed at the Blu-Ray case for a moment, then said: "Ah, why the hell not? I like a good movie."

"Believe me, this is not a good movie."

Cartman took the case, removed the disc and popped it into his Blu-Ray player. He jumped as the TV came on by itself. He sat cross-legged on his bed, and glanced at Heather again. She was looking back at him with an almost pitiful look on her face.

"If you're not supposed to be here, why are you?" he asked.

"Because I lived in South Park, once upon a time," Heather said wistfully. "I still love it, even if it is the weirdest town in the world. I've seen what's going to happen here, and I have to try to change it. Which is why I'm begging you: please, give Kenny the money, before it's too late."

"Why should I?" Cartman asked defiantly.

"I'll show you why." She waved her hand in front of the TV. The disc started to play. "Eric Cartman, this is your future."

**Okay, that's the end of chapter one. ****Like I said at the top, this story is a bit weird, but please stick with it, it will get better. Hopefully.**

**Chapter 2 up soon… **


	2. Chapter 2

**Life**

**Chapter 2 – Home Sweet Home**

**Sorry for the long wait for this chapter, but I haven't had much time to write recently. Anyway, here we go – this is Cartman's (and South Park's) future.**

**I don't own South Park – just this story. Honest.**

Eric Cartman stepped out into the blazing sunlight, clutching the small plastic bag that held his worldly belongings close to his chest. One of the guards that flanked him glanced at him and asked:

"Watcha gonna do, Eric?"

"Fucked if I know, Chad."

Cartman was 33 now, still as fat as he had ever been (even 7 years of prison food hadn't cured his weight problem), and his light brown mop of unruly hair was beginning to recede.

7 years, Cartman thought, as he breathed in the crisp Californian air. 7 years is a helluva long time to be stuck anywhere, but 7 years in Colorado State Penitentiary is a fucking eternity. And what had he done? What was his actual crime, apart from losing several million people their life savings and almost bringing down the American financial system? The judge had called it "the biggest fraud in corporate history." Cartman pulled a face. Fraud was such a faggy crime. Why did he have to get done for that?

Now, 7 years into his 10 year sentence, he was being released, all thanks to a new Government scheme called the Prisoner Work Release Program, which was some crap about rehabilitating prisoners in the workplace. Companies would get to choose a prisoner to take on and 'rehabilitate', and in return would get a nice chunk of taxpayers' money for their trouble. Cartman and a few others had been chosen for the program thanks partly to good behaviour and the nature of their crimes.

The firm that had chosen Cartman was called KMC Enterprises, which was based in his old hometown of South Park. Cartman had never heard of it, and had no idea who ran it. He hadn't been back to South Park since his mom's funeral. He lowered his head and blinked quickly a few times, pain stabbing across his chest. Liane Cartman had died of a heart attack shortly after his conviction, and in all the time he'd been inside, he'd never cried once. To cry in prison would mean being called a pussy, and be buttfucked regularly until the end of your sentence. No-one was going to call Eric Cartman a pussy.

The chaplain who had broken the news had told Cartman the heart attack was probably brought on by the stress of the trial but, deep down, Cartman knew that his mom had simply died of a broken heart. He swallowed hard, ignoring the hotness behind his eyes. There would be time for that later.

He looked up just in time to see a white stretch limo pulling up in front of him. Chad the guard whistled appreciatively.

"Looks like your ride's here, Eric."

"Who the hell…" Cartman tried to peer in, but the windows were tinted. Suddenly the back door nearest him opened. He walked to it and leant in. A good looking blond haired man wearing a black Armani suit, who looked around the same age as himself, motioned for him to get in, and said:

"Get in Eric. Let's get you out of this hellhole." He glanced quickly at Chad. "No offence, man."

Cartman climbed in and sat next to the man. The interior of the car was amazing, with leather seats, a small fridge and a plasma TV. He sat back and closed his eyes, inhaling the smell of leather and the guy's exotic aftershave. He listened to the soft hum of the limo's engine as it sped him away from the place he'd called home for 7 years, and back to the place he'd called home for almost 20. He opened his eyes and looked across at Blondie, who was smiling at him in a way that made him feel unnerved.

"It's been a long time, Cartman," he said.

"Am I supposed to know you?" Cartman asked rudely.

"Well, I was kinda hoping you would," Blondie replied. "We were best friends, once."

Cartman stared at him. He had been the most hated person in South Park, so he hadn't had many friends - just Stan, Kyle and…

"Kenny?!" His eyes widened as he finally recognised the man sitting next to him.

"Yep! It's me!" Kenny said. He pretended to wipe his brow. "Phew! I'm glad you got there. That could've been embarrassing. I mean, I go to all this trouble to help you and you don't even recognise me…" He forced a little laugh as the atmosphere in the limo suddenly became awkward.

"So, um, you work for KMC Enterprises?" Cartman said, trying to defuse the tension.

"No, I _am_ KMC Enterprises," Kenny said. Cartman stared at him blankly. "KMC…Kenny McCormack. The clue's in the title," he added testily.

The two men sat in silence for a short time, staring out of their respective windows at the Colorado landscape.

"You still blame me, don't you."

Kenny turned to look at Cartman. "For what?" he asked.

"For losing your goddamn house all those years ago!" Cartman shouted. "You've never forgiven me for that, even though it wasn't my fault!" He stared moodily out of the window again.

"Dude, you got me all wrong!" Kenny said defensively. "Sure, I was mad at you at the time, but that was like, 20 years ago! A lot's changed for me since then. In fact, I should probably thank you. It was when we lost the house that I realised I couldn't rely on other people to bail me out all the time. If it wasn't for you, I'd probably still be living on handouts. I wouldn't be a billionaire right now."

"You're a billionaire?" Cartman asked incredulously.

"Yep," Kenny said, smiling proudly. "Not that I like to brag, or anything." He opened the fridge. "You want a beer?"

Cartman took the bottle he was offered and popped it open, still staring at Kenny. He took a long drink. "Jesus Christ," he said when he came up for air. "I've been away a long time, man."

*

Cartman was pretty well oiled by the time they reached South Park, having not had beer for so long, naturally, it went straight to his head. He sat slumped in the limo's leather seat, with a woozy grin on his face and a few beer bottles scattered around his ankles.

"Well, here we are," Kenny said.

Cartman pulled himself up and peered out through the window to get a glimpse of his old home. Instead of the usual multi-coloured houses and shops, all he saw was a tall grey wall with barbed wire running along the top. A metal door was built into it. Kenny pushed a button on his armrest and the door slid open, admitting them. When the limo passed through, it slid closed again. The wall stretched out all around the edge of South Park, casting a dark shadow over the small mountain town. Cartman stared, hardly able to believe his eyes. South Park was literally walled off from the world.

"What the hell's going on?" he asked. He could feel sobriety starting to kick in, and he didn't like it.

"What, you mean the wall?" Kenny said brightly. He chuckled. "Everybody's a little shocked when they see that, but it's purely for security reasons. You see, my company develops technology for NASA and many other agencies, so it's very top secret. We had some security breaches a while back, hence the wall."

"And people don't mind that there's a great big fucking wall around the town?"

Kenny shrugged. "They're okay with it. It's not to keep them _in_; it's to keep certain people _out_. The townspeople know they can come and go as they please."

The limo pulled on to Main Street, or what was left of it. All the shops and other businesses that Cartman had known in his childhood were either boarded up or in a severe state of disuse. Even Tom's Rhinoplasty had gone. Only a few select stores, like the 99c store, were open. And then there were the townspeople. Everybody looked so miserable. A few of them looked up as the limo went past, but most deliberately looked away. Cartman had that same unnerving feeling he'd had when he'd first seen Kenny. What the hell was going on here?

"Hey, Jason," Kenny spoke into an intercom near the door. "Pull over here, will you?"

The limo pulled over to the kerb and Kenny scooted across the seat, leant past Cartman and pushed a button on the door. The window slid down and sunlight streamed in, almost blinding Cartman.

"Hey, Clyde!" Kenny shouted. "Come here!"

Cartman recognised Clyde Donovan instantly as he sauntered over to the limo. He still had the same baby face, although he was a lot thinner than he used to be, and his dark brown hair was nearly shoulder length. Cartman couldn't help thinking that he looked like a homeless hippie, rather than the guy who'd been offered a scholarship at Yale.

Clyde bent down and peered into the limo. He looked at Cartman, then Kenny. "Yeah?"

"Why aren't you at work?" The question sounded friendly enough, but Cartman noticed an edge to Kenny's voice.

Clyde suddenly looked nervous, and mumbled something that Cartman didn't catch.

"Oh, I see, okay." Kenny nodded for a moment, looking thoughtful. "How's Craig?" he asked blithely.

"C-Craig?"

"Yeah, you know, Craig? Craig Tucker. Your little fuck-buddy."

Clyde looked taken aback. "I don't…I, uh, um…"

"If you wanna screw Craig, you do it on your time, not mine," Kenny said sternly. "Don't think that just because I leave town for a few hours you can do whatever the hell you want. This is gonna mean some serious overtime, buddy. Don't be late."

The window slid closed and Kenny pressed the intercom again. "Okay, go, Jason."

Cartman glanced back at Clyde and saw him flip the limo off as it pulled away.

"Clyde and Craig?" he asked Kenny, eyebrows raised. "When did that happen? The last I heard, Craig was boning Tweek."

"Tweek died six months ago," Kenny replied. "Clyde's been comforting Craig in the only way he knows how."

The limo left Main Street and travelled down a street that was all too familiar to Cartman. His friend Stan Marsh had lived down here, although it seemed that his old house, along with most of the others, had been knocked down and replaced by a large, ugly, sprawling mansion. Yet another wall, a brick one this time, surrounded it, and a couple of wrought iron gates with KMC in gold lettering across them stood in front of it. They swung open as the limo approached. The limo travelled up a long gravel drive and parked in front of the house. Cartman recognised another of his old classmates, Kevin, as he hurried out of the mansion to greet them. It seemed like Kenny had half of South Park working for him.

"Welcome home, Cartman, " Kenny said, as they clambered out of the limo.

Cartman looked at the mansion, then at the town's wall with its menacing barbed wire, and finally at the dilapidated Main Street. The feeling of unease that had been inside him since they'd entered South Park had gotten worse. There was something very wrong here. He shook his head.

"Home sweet fucking home."

**Chapter 3 up soon…**


End file.
